


So Much to Confide to You

by Sineala



Category: Avengers (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Avengers Vol. 1 (1963), BDSM, Bondage, Crack, Fluff, Impact Play, M/M, Masochism, Pining, Sadism, Sex Toys, Vibranium (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:42:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25304710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sineala/pseuds/Sineala
Summary: After an attack by the Masters of Evil, Avengers Mansion is in ruins. Tony has come back from California to help the East Coast team pick up the pieces -- literally. And when the team finds items of a certain intimate nature in the wreckage of the mansion's bedrooms, Tony is of course the one who steps forward to claim them. This leads to two problems:Problem Number One: They're not his sex toys. His toys are in California. Therefore, one of Tony's longtime friends is also extremely kinky and he has no idea who.Problem Number Two: One of Tony's longtime friends happens to own an Iron Man butt plug. Oh, God.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 121
Kudos: 694





	So Much to Confide to You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [phoenixmetaphor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenixmetaphor/gifts).



> Happy birthday, phoenixmetaphor! You are an excellent person and I am very glad to have gotten to know you in fandom and I know you know that this story is entirely your fault, so I hope you like it.
> 
> This takes place just after Roger Stern's "Under Siege" arc of Avengers (#272-277), specifically after the recently-released one-shot issue "Avengers: Loki Unleashed" that directly follows the end of the arc, in which Tony has come back to California to check on the team and the rebuilding of the mansion. On the Iron Man side, we're maybe ten to twenty issues out from the end of the second drinking arc, so Tony has only recently survived... y'know... all of that. Armor Wars has not happened yet, so, believe it or not, thanks to "Loki Unleashed" we now know that Steve and Tony did actually canonically meet some time between the second drinking arc and Armor Wars, and isn't that nice?
> 
> Anyway, you don't need to actually know about any of that except that the mansion got wrecked and Steve was sad. Baron Zemo tore up all his stuff, including the only picture Steve ever had of his mother, and he made Steve cry. It was sad. Zemo fell off the roof. No one was sad about that except probably Zemo.
> 
> The way that the BDSM shakes out in this fic is primarily as S&M with bondage. Tony is hitting pretty hard, but it's established that Steve can take it. There are a few elements of D/s so if D/s is at all a squick for you, you may want to give this a pass -- but if you're reading strictly for D/s, I wouldn't say there's enough of it here to please someone who is solely a D/s aficionado, as the D/s elements here are mostly in service of the S&M. The characters are established as being into D/s, though.
> 
> Thanks to isozyme, hopelesse, and BlossomsintheMist for looking this over!

Tony trusted Damage Control. Of course he did; they were, at least partially, his company. But as he stood on Fifth Avenue looking up at the utter ruin that the Masters of Evil had made of Avengers Mansion, it was hard to see how even they could put it back together.

He'd come back east as soon as he could, to pay a visit, once he realized the scope of the damage. Zemo had sent the Fantastic Four and the West Coast Avengers on wild-goose chases to prevent them from helping, and Tony himself had been, literally, underwater at the time -- and Zemo had destroyed the mansion and nearly murdered all the Avengers as a result. Herc, Dane, and Jarvis were still in the hospital.

It was hard not to feel responsible. Tony knew Jan felt responsible, of course; this had all happened on her watch. But Tony felt more so. It had been his house. He was the engineer. He'd been responsible for the defense system. It never should have failed.

He swallowed hard, briefly grateful that his expression was obscured by the armor, and glanced over to find Steve staring up at the mansion, his jaw tensed as if, underneath the cowl, his face were identically furrowed.

The East Coast team had been kind enough to keep him looped into their comms once Tony had said he'd like to stay a little longer after that mess with Sise-Neg, and Jan had let the rest of the team know that they were planning another clean-up session today. Monica had said she was going to make the rounds of the hospital again instead, but Thor and Steve had said they were in.

Except Steve didn't exactly look like he was in.

His jaw was quivering now, his eyes were suspiciously reflective, and so Tony leaned over and nudged him as gently as anyone in a several-hundred-pound suit of armor could manage.

"Hey, Cap," Tony murmured. "What's up? You look like you're having second thoughts." He paused. "You don't have to do this, you know. I bet Jarvis and Herc and Dane wouldn't mind a hospital visit. We can clean everything up without you."

The offer of reprieve didn't seem to be what Steve wanted; Steve just shook his head. "No, I'm okay. I said I'd help, and I'll help."

"Is this about the structural integrity? Because we've been given the all-clear on that, and besides, everyone else in the building right now can fly." He thumped his own chest, lightly, for emphasis. "We're actually safer than a construction crew. If you fall, I promise I'll catch you."

But Steve was still shaking his head. "It's not that," he said. "I just-- this place was our _home_ , you know? And now it's gone."

Oh. Oh, geez. Tony could see how that was a problem. Steve had taken so long to get used to the future, to finally settle in. And Zemo had taken that away from him.

Tony reached over and patted Steve on the shoulder with one gauntleted hand. He wished he could hug him. He wished he could kiss him. Steve definitely didn't want that. "Hey, hey. You remember what I said to the team the other day? We're going to rebuild. It's going to be our home again. All of this?" He gestured at the smashed facade. "This is just stuff. We're all alive, and that's what's important."

Steve was shaking his head more violently, looking miserable. "You don't-- sometimes stuff isn't _just stuff_ , Shellhead. When Zemo was holding me captive, he dragged out my old Army footlocker from my room and ripped up everything, because he could. My old journals. Pictures of me and Bucky. Keepsakes. And--and-- the only picture I ever had of my mother." He was practically crying now. "You can't-- you can't bring that back. Not for all the money in the world."

"I'm sorry," Tony said, helplessly. He could fix a lot of things. He couldn't fix that. He couldn't make Steve happy. But he was an engineer, and he was always looking for solutions. "Could you draw her?" Tony asked, in the pause between Steve's gasping breaths.

"Wouldn't be the same." Steve's eyes were shut. "My visual memory is better than normal, but only after the serum. Thinking of things or people from before it -- it'd be like drawing without a reference. I think maybe... it'd be worse to have it, and have it be wrong, than not have it at all."

Awkwardly, Tony kept patting Steve's shoulder. "I'm really sorry."

Steve looked up, blinking, and wiped his face on his glove. "Not your fault. I just wonder -- what's even left in there, you know?"

"I know," Tony said, and he hoped he at least sounded encouraging. "But that's why we're here now. To figure out what we have left, and build something new out of it. Right?"

"Right," Steve echoed, and though he still didn't sound particularly convinced he stepped forward toward what once had been the main door, leaning on Tony all the way.

* * *

"So," Jan said, as they all stood in what once had been the mansion basement, looking all the way up to the hole that went through the roof. Sunshine streamed down, making dust motes dance. "Do you want the good news or the bad news?"

Tony glanced around the basement, his view of the chaos now unimpaired by his helmet. It was a hot day, and it wasn't like everyone here didn't already know who he was.

He raised an eyebrow. "There's good news?"

Most of the walls had been knocked out. The furniture was almost entirely splintered and broken, surrounded by sliced coils of rope. There were dark brown smears on the floor that Tony knew was blood, and he tried not to think about whether it belonged to Herc, or Dane, or Jarvis, or (oh God) _Steve_ \--

"Well, they couldn't get into the computers," Jan said, sounding almost cheerful despite the entire situation. "You did a great job with the network security."

"And the bad news?" Tony asked.

Jan half-smiled. "Everything else," she said. "Time to get to work."

She fluttered upwards as Tony picked up his helmet and tucked it under his arm with a clang of metal against metal.

This was why the Avengers were here. Sure, Damage Control could handle the rebuilding, but the Avengers had a lot of gear and data that Tony knew no one else should be getting their hands on, and it was up to them to sort it out first. It looked like his workshop was a mess -- but, well, it was his workshop, and he was the person with the best odds of being able to clean it as safely as possible.

Plus, Steve had made a good point, outside, about some stuff being more than _just stuff_. Not everything could be replaced, and some of the second floor, where the personnel quarters were, was still intact. If they were lucky, some of the team could have their possessions back. 

Hell, Tony thought, starting to smile to himself, maybe they'd even find some more of Steve's stuff. That would cheer him up for sure.

* * *

They'd finished sorting through the rubble in the basement in record time. Tony's armors that he'd hidden away and refound before the whole Sise-Neg thing were still there, even if most of his workshop was toast. The computers were all broken, screens smashed in by the Wrecker's crowbar -- but the Masters of Evil hadn't, thank God, made it to the mainframe, and at any rate Tony had tape backups, which turned out to also be intact.

At around two, they stopped to order pizza. Tony put his helmet back on and flew up to get the boxes from the bewildered delivery guy. He tipped extra -- the guy had had to navigate the war zone that was now the front entrance, after all -- then carried the pizza boxes back down and spread them out on the newly-cleared floor as the Avengers gathered around. Tony promptly cracked his helmet, slid off his gauntlets, and, with a flourish, pulled out the paper plates he'd found miraculously preserved next to the fridge in his workshop.

"Two for you," he said, sliding two pieces of cheese pizza onto Jan's plate. "And two for me," he continued, opening up the pepperoni. He glanced over speculatively at Steve. "And only one of each for Cap, because we all know he'll be too polite to take more until everyone else has had enough." 

Steve was smiling; the visible skin of his face was a little flushed. "Well, it _is_ polite." At least he looked like he was in a better mood than he had been before, as he took the plate. "Thank you, Tony."

"My pleasure," Tony said, and then he regarded the last plate and the amount of pizza left, as he passed the empty plate to Thor. "Thor, buddy, you can just load that on up. Try to leave a few slices for the rest of us." He'd never been great at estimating Thor's appetite. He'd always let Jarvis worry about-- God, no, he couldn't think about Jarvis like that, in the past tense. Jarvis was going to be fine.

"Aye," Thor said, and they all dug in.

"Sort of reminds you of the old days, doesn't it?" Jan asked. "I mean, here we all are, the founding Avengers..."

Tony paused in between bites. "I couldn't have done this in the old days. Pizza wouldn't have fit in that old armor's mouth-slit. Good riddance." He glanced down at himself, resplendent in red and silver. He was getting used to the colors now.

There was an expression on Steve's face that Tony couldn't quite parse. "You don't miss it?"

"Eh." Tony wanted to shrug; the armor wasn't going to let him move his shoulders. "I was proud of it then, but I've made so many more improvements to it now. That old stuff is just... kind of embarrassing. Even setting aside the one with the nose armor."

"Oh," Steve said, the sound small and somehow disappointed, and then he picked up his pizza again and didn't say anything else for the rest of the meal.

Geez, Steve was weird today. It was understandable -- but even so, there was something really off. Maybe Tony could talk to him later; maybe they could get dinner together or something, like they used to. He just wanted Steve to be okay. But maybe Steve needed time to deal with the loss of the mansion, and maybe dwelling on the past was the wrong thing.

Tony just wished he knew what the right thing was.

* * *

Only about half of the second floor was intact, and what was still there was a mess. All the interior walls were gone, and the contents of the remaining rooms were scattered across the entire level. The team had still kept a room open for Tony even though he lived in California these days, and that meant that Tony found one of his dress shirts two rooms away in what had once been Jan's room, stained in bright colors by smashed makeup and nail polish. And that was one of the luckier finds -- at least it was recognizably still a shirt.

Sighing, Tony put his gauntlets back on and set to work picking through broken furniture. There, that was one of Monica's uniforms wedged behind his stack of engineering journals. And over there, that had to be one of Steve's boots. It was still all so sad, but thinking about it like a puzzle -- what things belonged to which Avengers? -- made it maybe a little better. People could have some of their stuff back, if they figured this out.

And then Thor stood up, the way he always did, clearing his throat like he was preparing to give a soliloquy. There was a box at his feet, heavy but battered, still closed, but one corner had cracked just enough to let something slip out.

"Lo!" Thor said, holding up something long, dark, and stick-thin in both hands, brandishing it for the rest of them. "Look upon what I have found, my friends! I know not to whom it belongs. Think ye that it is something of the Black Knight?" He frowned, uncertain, and wow, that was a _super-weird_ expression on Thor. "I have not seen him with a steed of late, but mayhap it is his."

And then Tony realized three things, in rapid succession:

One: Thor was holding a riding crop.

Two: That riding crop was _not_ for horses.

Three: The box that the riding crop had come from _definitely_ did not contain gear suitable for equitation.

Tony was suddenly very glad for all those years of PR training and Avengers poker nights, as they were currently the only things enabling him to keep his face impassive. He dared a glance around the room. Jan and Steve were both looking on with identical expressions of bland curiosity. Either they were just as good at faking it -- unlikely, when it was Steve -- or they actually didn't know what was in that box. Tony did.

The thing was, it wasn't Tony's box.

Oh, it wasn't that Tony didn't have a toybox of his own -- in fact, he had quite a collection, as almost every sub he'd played with could attest to -- but it was all in California right now. None of it was here. He'd swear that on his armor.

But he knew that no one was going to like what happened next if Thor opened that box. And since neither Jan nor -- _ha ha, funny joke_ \-- Steve had laid claim to it, to prevent Thor from opening it, that meant Tony had to step up. Take one for the team.

Tony stepped forward. "Actually," Tony said, trying for the most innocent voice he could muster, "that's my riding crop. I left it here by accident. Sorry."

Jan gave him a sidelong glance of disbelief, and, yeah, she absolutely knew what else was likely to be in that box, all right.

"What?" Tony said. "I'm rich. I've played polo. Can't a guy own a riding crop these days?"

He was sure that people could in fact own riding crops for non-perverted purposes. Hell, maybe it even really was Dane's.

Jan's stare only grew more incredulous. Thankfully, neither Steve nor Thor seemed to be paying attention. It was fine if Jan didn't believe him, if she thought the toys were his. That was the point. It was a plausible misdirection, another mask. Why shouldn't Tony Stark, the famed Casanova of the superhero world, have all the sex toys he wanted? He was just covering for the true owner, that was all. He was saving them some embarrassment. Nobody was going to want Thor to stand here in public and show off their vibrator collection for the rest of the team.

"Oh," Tony added, as casually as possible, "and I'll take the box too, of course. Sorry about that."

Thor brightened, and then he strode across the creaking floor to deposit the box and the crop in front of Tony. "No apologies are necessary! I am gladdened that I have so easily found the rightful owner of these effects."

"Rightful owner," Tony repeated, trying to echo Thor's smile. "Yeah. Sure. Great. Thank you."

Well. It looked like Tony was the brand-new illicit owner of a big box of what was probably kinky sex toys. Possession, as they said, was nine-tenths of the law. Or maybe _finders, keepers_.

Today had just gotten a whole lot more interesting.

* * *

Of _course_ he was going to open it.

If Tony was anything in this life he was an engineer first and foremost. Someone who liked to take things apart, figure them out, solve every problem they contained. You couldn't hand him a box and not expect him to want to open it. It was like sitting him in front of a button that said _do not push_.

And he had a problem to solve here: he had to figure out who the box really belonged to. Not everyone who resided in the mansion had been in the room when Thor had found the box, so if they hadn't been there, it was Tony's duty to figure out who they were. And if they had been there... well, then they hadn't come forward, and it was Tony's duty to return it to them anyway. He could be discreet. Subtle. It would be the kind thing to do. He could determine who really owned the box and then privately hand it back. No one else would have to know.

He would have liked to have said that he'd have wanted anyone to do the same for him, but that wasn't exactly true. Part of being Tony Stark meant that most people were just going to assume he was kinky, whether or not he was, but in the dilettante pop-culture way that meant that maybe he tied his girlfriends up with silk scarves every so often, when he wanted to try something new. That was the impression he liked to give. That wasn't him, namely because (a) he was kinky in a rather more serious way, (b) when he did things he wanted to do them properly, and (c) silk scarves were a terrible fucking bondage material. So, sure, he was into kink, and he was willing to take the heat for whoever it was on the team who didn't want to be so open about their preferences. That was just what you did for your fellow kinksters, right?

And, okay, yeah, he could admit it: he was a little bit curious about who it was and what they liked. Maybe they could trade some tips. Tony had been single for-- well, since Indries, and he didn't want to think about her. It had been a while since he'd really gotten to play with someone. Maybe the mysterious box-owner could recommend a good dungeon. A fellow Avenger would have the same need for privacy as Tony did.

Maybe this was going to be easy. Maybe they had their name written on the inside. It probably wasn't going to be that easy, but he could hope.

It was early evening now; the team had finished sorting as much of the second floor as they were going to be able to do, probably, and then they'd all gone their separate ways. Tony didn't know where anyone else was staying; he knew the team had rented temporary HQ space from the Fantastic Four, but he didn't know if that covered room and board. Steve had hightailed it out of there before Tony could ask him over for dinner, otherwise he would have.

Oh, well. There was always tomorrow.

All the apartments he'd rented for himself over the years had kicked him out when he'd fallen off the wagon, but when he'd gotten out of St. Vincent's he'd found himself another place before heading to California, just in case he needed it. Penthouse apartment, swanky views, all the usual amenities. And it seemed like he needed it these days, now that he unexpectedly no longer had the mansion. It was lonely without the Avengers around here, though. He'd never really liked to live alone. But it was what it was.

After a hurried dinner of Chinese delivery, fried rice eaten while standing in his empty kitchen, he turned his attention to his newest acquisition: the box.

The box -- and the crop that had come out of it -- lay in the middle of Tony's bed. Tony picked the crop up by the handle and turned it over, considering; he gave the mattress next to him a few experimental lashes. It had been used for some time, he thought, to judge by the wear on the leather of the popper, but there wasn't too much else he could tell. He set it aside and turned to consider the box itself.

The box was metal, probably aluminum or steel, painted in that most favorite of kinky colors: black. It was maybe two and a half feet long -- just long enough for the crop -- and about a foot deep. Whatever blow had staved it in enough to split one corner had also broken the lock, and that meant Tony could lift the lid, which gave way with a screech of metal and the scraping of scratched paint. It didn't quite lift up all the way anymore -- the hinges were definitely busted -- but there was enough room for Tony to fish out the contents, one item at a time.

"Okay," Tony said to the box. "Let's just see what you've got in here."

He reached in, found a cloth bag within the box, and worked his hand past the drawstring. He felt the brush of leather loops against his fingertips, and knew what he had before he pulled the bag out of the box, and then the bag's contents out of the bag. First one flogger and then another, smaller one were revealed before him. Like the crop, they were both clearly used -- the leather had been broken in -- and they were well-cared-for by their mysterious owner, the leather conditioned and cleaned. They were expensive, too. Tony fingered the soft leather in admiration. One of the floggers was softer than the other, suede rather than finished leather, brushed delicately into readiness. The grips of both were sturdy, the falls untangled. This wasn't any of your porn-store pleather shit. Whoever owned this box believed in paying good money for good gear. Tony was beginning to admire them already.

The next thing in the box was a thick leather cuff, unbuckled, but with one of the D-rings still attached to a chain. Tony felt like some kind of perverted magician, pulling it out of the box until he got to the other cuff. Then, for the sake of completeness, he reached in, found the other two cuffs and their chain, and set them all on the bed next to the crop and the floggers. The leather was once again black, but something about the metal of the findings, as well as the long chains between the cuffs, was... odd. Usually chains like that were as shiny as hell, nickel-plated stainless steel, but these were more of a muted, dull color. Less reflective. Sort of like--

Suspiciously, Tony tapped a D-ring with one fingernail and it rang out, the sound almost unearthly and very, very familiar.

That was-- that was a goddamn _vibranium alloy_ , that was what that was. The rarest metal on the planet was sitting right here in someone's BDSM toybox.

Oh, it probably didn't have a very high percentage of vibranium, just because no one except, say, Tony himself -- well, before he'd lost Stark International, anyway -- or medium-sized countries could have afforded pure vibranium. Tony didn't have a lab here in New York anymore, and he definitely wasn't going to call Reed up to ask him to run a metallurgical analysis of a sex toy, because friendship had limits. But whoever owned this had ponied up serious cash for what had to have been custom-made cuffs and chains, capable of holding someone who had at least peak human strength, maybe higher.

The cheaper option would have been to borrow some SHIELD power-dampening cuffs. Those, Tony knew from hearing various agents grouse about it, were always going missing. But they wouldn't have been half as nice as these were. Tony ran a finger inside the cuffs. They were soft. Lined. Comfortable. Once again, quality. He told himself not to linger, and he put the cuffs down. He wasn't just going to pet all the leather this person owned. That would have been... a transgression.

When Tony figured out who this box's owner was, he was definitely going to need to ask them for some shopping recommendations.

He reached in again, felt more leather and metal, and pulled out a tangle of straps that eventually -- as he turned it around in his hands -- resolved into the shape of a more-or-less standard harness. The leather was good quality, reinforced with a lot of stitching -- and the findings were, once again, vibranium, as was the O-ring in the center of the chest.

That didn't necessarily mean that the box's owner had super-strength, of course; it wasn't that easy. He had no idea if they were a top or a bottom, and they could very well be a top seeing someone -- or multiple someones -- with super-strength. Or they just liked to keep their options open.

Tony gave the box an experimental shake. It didn't sound like there was much more in there. A few smaller things, probably. One of them was wholly metal -- and not vibranium, to judge by the sound it made against the walls of the box. He supposed he'd find out soon.

He reached in once more. A cock ring, with adjustable snaps, and a D-ring on that. Also vibranium. Whoever this person was, they sure liked attachment points. And probably had a dick -- or, at least, their partner did.

Then came a set of nipple clamps -- surprisingly not vibranium, but then, Tony figured that made sense if no one had to struggle against them --and then a blindfold, and also a fairly sizable ball gag. Whoever wore that gag was probably a man, judging by the jaw size that could accommodate that, but, again, Tony didn't know if that was the box's owner.

He shook the box again, hopeful for more answers. It sounded like there was only that one metal object left, banging against the sides. Given everything else here, he was more than a little surprised that there wasn't a collar -- but, well, sometimes people had very specific beliefs about those.

He still had to figure out who this box belonged to, and he had one last chance for an answer. Maybe the final item would explain it all and help him find the owner.

"This is it," Tony informed the box. "This better be good."

The mystery item was heavy for its size, probably solid stainless steel, and cool in his palm. The shape of it was familiar when he closed his hand around it, bulbous on one end, then narrow, spreading out into a flat flanged base, perpendicular to the rest of the object. Plug, definitely. Well, that was disappointing. A real pity. Tony wasn't going to be able to tell much about the owner from that.

He pulled his hand out, opened his fist, and saw gleaming red. Huh. He revised his materials guess: plated stainless steel, obviously. Well, red was an interesting color choice and certainly one of his personal favorites, but-- oh.

_Oh, fuck._

The flattened, circular base of the plug wasn't featureless, as Tony had been expecting. In fact, it bore the last thing he had ever expected to see: Iron Man's face. It was a little relief in miniature, the faceplate painted gold, the rest of the red helmet a hint of striated metal at its edges, done up with a little bit of a shimmer to stand out from the red background. It was clearly meant to be a depiction of the old Model IV, and -- Tony thought with a near-hysterical edge -- it was actually pretty damn accurate. Much like everything else in this box, it had been made with exacting care.

"Oh, my God," Tony told the empty box. "One of the Avengers owns an Iron Man butt plug."

The box, of course, did not reply.

This changed everything. It changed absolutely everything, and at the same time Tony had no clue what to do about it. Not only was he looking for an Avenger who was kinky, he was looking for an Avenger _who had a thing for him_. For _him_. Jesus. One of his former teammates wanted him enough that they-- that they probably _fantasized about him in the middle of their kinky sex life_ and Tony had no clue who it was.

Also, that thought was rapidly getting him hard, which was weird and all kinds of confusing and didn't really help when it came to figuring any of this out. But it wasn't like his dick was rational, and going through a box of someone else's toys had already been sort of furtively erotic, if he had to admit it to himself. He'd always liked really good leather, and, oh God, _vibranium_ , and, okay, he needed to stop thinking about this.

_You could just take the edge off_ , Tony's traitorous brain suggested. _You're not focusing. Just jerk off, take care of that little problem for yourself, then go back to figuring out who owns all of this._

Accusingly, Tony looked down at himself. His cock was already well on the way to being on-board with this idea; his hard-on was definitely visible even with his pants on, the shape of his cock pressing against the fabric, starting to dampen his underwear.

"No," Tony said, firmly.

He set the plug down on the bed next to everything else. He was going to be responsible. That would be over the line. He was going to behave in a professional and appropriate manner, because that was the right thing to do. Despite what the rest of the world might think about Tony Stark, infamous playboy, he didn't actually take orders from his dick.

He took a few steadying breaths. Okay. He was going to use his brain. The brain in his _head_. And he was going to think this through.

At least some of the gear was probably intended for use on a man, to judge from the size of the gag, the shape of the chest harness, and the sheer existence of the cock ring. And the restraints were definitely meant to be used on a bottom with enhanced strength. But there was nothing saying that the intersection of those two sets contained only one individual -- after all, maybe the box's owner liked to switch it up with their play partners -- and, even if it did, there was also nothing saying that that was the owner of the box. They might be a submissive man with super-strength, true... but they might also be dating one. That didn't exactly close off any options.

So Tony had to reason this out from the other direction. He knew who resided in the mansion, and he knew it wasn't his own gear, even though the Avengers always kept a room open for him. Six people on the team plus Jarvis meant there were seven people living in the mansion.

And he was just going to knock Jarvis out of consideration immediately because... ugh. No. No way. Jarvis had always been like a father to him. Jarvis definitely did not own an Iron Man butt plug. Tony wished he could unthink that thought right now. There were some mental images he did not need to have.

On the plus side, he no longer needed to worry about his confused boner.

Yeah, no, okay, he was moving on. Thor, despite having super-strength, was also out of the running, for the simple reason that he'd found the box and said he hadn't known whose it was. If it had been his box, he would have just taken it and not said a word to the rest of them, end of story. Thor had always at least liked him, ever since the early days, so maybe Tony could understand him having a crush -- but, logically speaking, Thor had already excluded himself.

Hercules was technically a possibility, but not really a good bet. He was definitely strong, anyway, so the gear might have fit him. But Tony kind of suspected that if Herc had any kind of inclinations toward kink it wouldn't be modern BDSM as anyone understood it. Whoever owned this box clearly knew some people in the scene, knew enough to know where to go to get good equipment, and definitely took it seriously. Herc didn't strike Tony as the "safe, sane, and consensual" type. Not to mention that Tony had never really thought Herc had that kind of interest in him, specifically.

Three down, four to go. Tony rose to his feet, leaving the box behind him on the bed, and started to pace across the room. He always thought better when he was on the move. Maybe he should go flying. He looked out at the twilit sky. This was a really stupid reason to go flying.

He was going to solve this. This was just like any puzzle. He was good at puzzles. He could solve this one too.

As he paced, he ticked the remaining Avengers off on his fingers. "Jan. Monica. Dane. Steve."

Jan was also off the list, and in this case it was precisely because of the plug. It wasn't that Tony didn't think women could like that sort of thing -- hell, he'd been with more than a few subby women with their own plug collection -- but Jan, as lovely as she was, had shown no signs of being kinky in any direction when they'd been together. Granted, she could definitely afford vibranium chains -- but what was she going to do with them? And the most damning thing -- the fact that definitely excluded her from consideration -- was the simple fact that they'd already been together. She'd broken up with him, just before he'd met Indries and begun his slide back into the bottle. She didn't have a secret crush on him because there would have been no need for it to be secret. Jan was a big girl, and if she'd wanted him back she would have just said so to his face. And she hadn't.

Three more. Only three more. He was certain of the people he'd already eliminated. That meant that it absolutely had to belong to Monica, Dane, or Steve. Neither Monica nor Dane had been there today. That would be the easiest explanation for why no one had stepped forward to claim the box. And either of them made a hell of a lot more sense than... Steve.

Ha. Steve. He could barely think it.

Monica, though. Monica had some potential. Or at least, unlike the previous four people, she didn't have _negative_ potential. She didn't have super-strength, but she could be dating someone who did, or keeping the chains around in case the situation arose. He didn't know Monica that well, and so all she would know of him was by reputation. That seemed to him like a decent situation for a long-distance crush; it wasn't like Tony was unaware that a lot of people liked his public persona. He was good at being charming. It was possible.

But Dane had been Thor's initial guess, and maybe that meant something. Hell, the guy even had a good reason to own a riding crop. They'd known each other a while and Tony hadn't really thought Dane had a secret crush on him... but maybe he was really good at keeping a secret. Plus, the guy had his own castle. He wore full plate armor of his own volition. Surely a guy like that could have something kinky going on; wasn't Tony himself proof of that? It took a certain kind of person to want to walk around in armor. You had to be a little bit weird. And, hey, Dane already liked metal, so maybe he liked vibranium.

It had to be one of the two of them: Dane or Monica. It couldn't be Steve.

Steve. Steve, Steve, Steve.

Tony heard himself laugh in the silence of the room as he came to a halt.

Oh, how he wished. God, he wished it could be Steve. It wasn't that Tony hadn't entertained the idea. Mostly he'd tried not to entertain the idea, because while thinking about Steve -- naked, bound, and begging to be allowed to please him -- had been responsible for several truly excellent orgasms in his life, he'd always felt so goddamn guilty when he was done because he knew Steve didn't like him like that. Steve didn't like men like that. Steve didn't like kink like that. He knew Steve wouldn't have liked anything about that.

That was all a fantasy. Fantasy Steve liked him like that. Fantasy Steve liked kink like that. Once, just once, Tony had allowed himself to construct a truly luxuriant fantasy, to picture himself showing this side of himself to Steve in all his unsullied innocence, introducing Steve to this beautiful world of pleasure and pain, to everything he'd never known about himself. He'd imagined Steve looking up at him, languid and trusting, letting Tony wrap the softest cotton ropes around his wrists, thanking him for showing him all these amazing new things, promising to stay with him forever.

At that point, Tony had come like a goddamn freight train, and then he'd spent a good ten minutes lying alone in his bed, trying not to cry.

That wasn't Real Steve and Tony knew it. Real Steve was only his friend, only ever his friend. If you took Real Steve to the Folsom Street Fair he'd be scandalized and disapproving. Probably -- no, _certainly_ \-- distressed. He'd be wanting to know why those people were dressed like that in public, or not dressed in anything at all, or why they were hitting each other.

And Steve didn't -- absolutely _did not_ \-- have feelings for Tony like Tony had for him. It had been years. Tony would have noticed.

He took a deep breath; it came out as a sigh.

Right. Captain America, definitely not a possibility.

Therefore, he was going to have to ask either Dane or Monica if the box belonged to them. And, since Dane actually did have a legitimate, non-kinky reason to have a crop around, asking him was, Tony realized, definitely going to be the easier option. All he had to do was show up at the hospital for visiting hours tomorrow. That'd be a nice thing to do anyway. He could see Jarvis first, maybe, then go see Dane. Bring them both some flowers. He could sit at Dane's bedside and say, ever so casually: _While we were cleaning up the mansion, we found a box with a riding crop falling out the side and I was just wondering if it was yours._ If Dane said yes, no problem. Then it was his. If he said no, it was Monica's.

It was going to be easy.

Okay, so it meant that one of the two of them had a crush on Tony, and living with that knowledge was going to be a little weird, but at least he wasn't on the East Coast team with either of them. And besides, he wasn't going to let them know that he knew what was in the box. He was going to pack it up, crop and all, and hand it back over to its rightful owner. No awkwardness required. No public embarrassment necessary. Nothing to be ashamed of. No hint of the fact that Tony had examined the box's contents. He wasn't going to ask them for dungeon recommendations or the name of whoever had made them all their gorgeous gear, much as he wanted to. The existence of the plug changed all that. Tony couldn't let them know that he knew what was inside the box. 

They could just go on with their kinky sex life, enjoying their Iron Man butt plug, and they were never going to know that Tony knew about it. That was how it was going to be. It didn't matter how he felt about it; they should get to keep their fantasy life as private as possible. This was the closest he could get to making that happen for them. He had a secret identity. He was good at keeping his mouth shut.

That was what was going to happen. He knew the future. This was how it was all going to go.

Time to pack the box back up. Then he could attempt to get some sleep and not think about any of this ever again.

Faintly, from the other room, there was a knocking sound. Someone was at his door.

Huh. He wasn't expecting anyone. It couldn't be an Avengers emergency; they'd have used the identicard. Anyone who needed him for business-related reasons would also have called, and even then they really would have waited until morning; it was getting pretty late. And not a lot of people these days knew where he lived in New York. He'd filed it in the Avengers' records, but he didn't think he'd told anyone outside of the team. And the front desk wouldn't have let just anyone off the street up to see him, after all.

Only one way to find out.

Frowning, Tony headed to the living room, making sure that the bedroom door was very securely shut behind him as he did so, because the last thing he needed was to explain the massive selection of kinky sex toys laid out on his bed to... well, anyone.

The mysterious visitor didn't knock again, but Tony didn't hear the sound of footsteps in the hallway. They weren't leaving. Curious, Tony leaned toward the peephole, and through the fisheye lens he saw--

"Steve?" Tony breathed, surprised.

God, of all the random late-night visitors. That explained why they'd let him up here; of course Captain America was on Tony's approved list. But what could Steve want with him right now? It wasn't like they didn't hang out when neither of them were busy, or at least they used to -- and it was good, wasn't it, that Steve still wanted to be near him after everything, after the drinking? -- but Steve invariably called first to make sure he wasn't interrupting anything.

This was... well, this was unusual. Tony hoped _unusual_ didn't mean _bad_.

"Yes, it's me," Steve said, and of course he could hear Tony whispering through the door. Super-soldier hearing. You had to love it. But Steve sounded oddly... guarded? Nervous? He was shifting from foot to foot, shoulders hunched, and that was definitely unusual. He looked like he wanted to hide behind his shield. dipping his head and shoulders to fit into the curve of it. "Can I come in?" he asked. His voice was somehow hesitant. "I'll only be a couple of minutes, I promise."

"Yeah, sure," Tony said. He was confused, but, hell, it was Steve. He'd do anything Steve wanted. Always had, always would.

He unlocked the door, stepped back, let Steve in. Steve closed the door behind himself firmly, like he really wanted to make sure it was shut, and stepped away from the door into the room proper. He'd said it would only take a couple of minutes, but he was sure acting like this was a serious conversation.

Actually, he was still acting really strangely. He hadn't looked up when Tony had let him in. He hadn't even met Tony's eyes. He was still staring fixedly at the floor as he shuffled in. His face, Tony saw now, was ever so slightly flushed. His cowl was still up, like he didn't even want Tony to see his expression if he could help it.

What on Earth was going on here?

"Steve?" Tony ventured. "Everything okay there, Cap?"

Steve took a few steps to the side and then back, practically pacing, still not looking at him. "Fine," Steve said, and Christ, but he was a terrible liar. "Fine. I just-- I had a favor to ask you, and it made more sense to ask in person. I probably should have called first. I'm sorry."

"Nothing to apologize for," Tony said reflexively, because he was always glad to see Steve even when Steve was being _really fucking weird_. "I wasn't busy, and you know you're always welcome." He paused. "So what can I do for you?"

Steve finally looked up at him, a determined, defiant stare, like he was facing down a firing squad of his own making. His jaw clenched. His throat worked. "You know the box that Thor found today?"

_Oh. Oh, fuck._

"Well," Steve said, steeling himself and continuing onwards, "I appreciate you taking the fall for me, as it were, but, um. It's my box. I was wondering if I could have it back."

The entire English language had exited Tony's head sometime in the last five seconds. "Um," Tony said.

All he could think about now was Steve wrapped up in all the gear that was even now lying on Tony's bed: cuffs at his wrists and ankles, the harness over his broad chest, vibranium chains pressed taut against his muscles, too strong for even him to fight.

This was definitely not a thing Tony needed to be thinking about right now.

Then Tony remembered the Iron Man plug.

The Avenger with a crush on him... was _Steve_? It couldn't be. It absolutely, positively could not be Steve.

He pictured Steve working the plug into himself, red metal against slick skin. Did Steve-- Jesus, did Steve _think about him_? He was so proper, so prim, so buttoned up. When the Avengers' chatter turned raunchy, he never joined in. He was innocent. He had to be innocent. Too innocent to know about any of this, anything remotely resembling kink. Wasn't he innocent?

Steve was looking wildly around the room -- like he was hoping the box was out here, Tony realized belatedly, as his mind churned sluggishly away. He couldn't think. God, he _couldn't think_.

"So if I could just have that box back," Steve continued, marshaling up an unbelievable amount of courage and once again looking Tony in the eye, "I'll be on my way."

Tony didn't know what to say, because _the contents of your box are currently sitting on my bed and I got a massive hard-on when I went through it_ was not a fact about the world that was going to make Steve happy.

There was a long pause.

Dropping his head, Steve looked away. His bravery had faltered after all.

"You didn't open it, did you?" Steve asked, very softly. "Please tell me you didn't open it."

"Uh," Tony said.

He knew the guilt was written across his face, because Steve's skin went bone-white. "Oh, God," Steve said, low and miserable.

"I wanted to figure out who it belonged to." Tony was fully aware that his defense was pathetic. He'd violated Steve's privacy. What the hell had he been thinking? "I figured I'd open it up, see what was inside, see if there were any clues about its owner."

Steve was swaying on his feet. "So you saw... everything?"

"Yeah," Tony admitted. He wanted to crawl in a hole and die, although maybe not as much as Steve clearly did.

"Everything?"

"Everything," Tony said, and honesty compelled him to be specific. "Including the, uh. The plug."

Wretched, Steve squeezed his eyes shut. "I'm so sorry, Tony," he whispered. "Obviously I can't say I didn't mean to do it, because clearly I did, but I-- I told myself it would be harmless. Just an indulgence. I-- I _used_ you, and I told myself it would be okay because I thought you'd never find out. And it was wrong of me. I should never have... given into my desires."

It was like trying to reconcile two separate images into stereo vision: there was Captain America, pure and unsullied, and then there was Steve, who _wanted_ him. Who wanted _him_. In very human, filthy, kinky ways.

Tony just kept staring. He didn't know what to say, which turned out to be extremely bad because Steve kept talking.

"I know I don't have any right to ask this of you after what I've done," Steve continued, and God, was he crying? A tear glistened on his cheek. Oh, God, he was. This was all Tony's fault. How could Steve blame himself? "But I hope-- I hope you can-- no, that's selfish. I'm just too damn selfish. That's the problem."

Tony's tongue was still cleaved to the roof of his mouth.

"I'll just go," Steve said, still miserable, turning back toward the door. "You can forget about the box. Burn it. Crush it. Melt it down. Whatever makes you happy. I don't need it."

Tony reached out, his fingers catching and dragging along the scales of Steve's uniform as he tried and failed to grab his shoulder. "No," Tony finally managed to blurt out, which was all he could say and yet wasn't enough because Steve was still moving.

But then Steve stopped and looked back. "Tony?"

"Don't go," Tony managed to say. "Don't. Please don't leave. You don't have to leave."

Steve's throat worked. "I know-- I know you're kind, Tony. You're the kindest man I know. But you don't have to say that. Not when it's not true. I know you don't want anything to do with me. Not like this." He swallowed again. "And I know you have no reason to believe me now, but your friendship is more important to me than almost anything else in the entire world. I just hope I can earn it back."

Something in Tony unfroze then, like all the joints in his armor had come unlocked at once, and before he could tell himself not to do it he took three swift steps forward, into Steve's personal space.

"Maybe I don't want to be your friend," Tony said, low and quiet and harsh, which upon reflection was probably one of the least explicable things he'd ever said to Steve, but he didn't really have time to think about it because by then he'd hooked one hand into the neck of Steve's uniform and wrapped the other hand around the back of Steve's head, and he was kissing him.

For about five seconds, Tony was convinced he'd made a mistake. The scales of Steve's shirt dug into his palm and Steve's surprised breath was hot against his mouth. Steve's body was tense. But then it was like a switch flipped within Steve, the current flowing the right way, and Steve just melted in Tony's arms. His mouth opened under Tony's, urging Tony on, encouraging Tony to just take what he wanted because it was what he wanted as well.

He was kissing like a sub at the beginning of a scene, Tony thought, and he wanted to laugh. Steve was exactly what he wanted. His life had gone from terrible to perfect in the span of twenty seconds.

Eventually, Steve lifted his head. Steve was smiling now, and Tony, helpless, began to smile back. Steve wanted him. Maybe they could have this after all. This was really happening.

"I want to be more than your friend," Tony clarified.

Steve's laughter was soft. "Yeah," he murmured. "I kind of figured that out when you kissed me."

Steve was breathing hard, his eyes starting to darken, but there was still reluctance in his gaze. That wasn't what Tony wanted to see, not at all.

"Is that something you want too?" Tony finally asked.

Steve's chest rose and fell under Tony's hand as Steve took another breath. "I don't want to lead you on," Steve said, his tone laced with apology, "but the things I think about, the things I like to do, the things I want you to do to me, Tony... they're not-- they're not vanilla."

Tony was having trouble seeing how in the world this could be a problem.

"Yeah," Tony said, echoing him, trying not to think about getting to _do things to Steve_ because he needed to use his brain at least a little bit longer. "I kind of figured that out when I saw the riding crop."

Steve swallowed hard and licked his lips. His cheeks were even more flushed than they had been before, just under the edges of his cowl, and it looked like it was taking everything in him to get a sentence out. "I-- I know people joke about it. Everyone jokes about it. _You_ joke about it, sometimes," he said, and Tony remembered the excuse he'd made when he'd taken the box. That had probably been torture for Steve, and not in the good way. "So you say these things but I don't know how serious you are about doing them. And if you couldn't do them, if you didn't really want to do them at all and were just being nice for me... it'd be a dealbreaker. I'm not the same as everyone else. I-- I _need_ it. I can't, um. I can't... finish... without it," he admitted, and his face was even redder. "I can think about it and sometimes that's enough, but that only works for so long. And I-- I need you to want it too. Not just to make me happy. That won't work either."

Tony let his hand slide down from the back of Steve's head to the scruff of his neck, pulling the cowl back with it as he went, a deliberately dominant move that was presuming a hell of a lot, but it looked like Steve could use it. Steve sure didn't seem like he wanted to stop him anytime soon. Tony wasn't going to let his brain dwell on the thought of Steve, wanton and needy, because they clearly still had a few things to talk about first.

"Topping you's not going to be a hardship," Tony said, as firmly as he could, and something in Steve's gaze softened. He could see Steve responding to him. Trusting him. "I have, let's just say, a fair amount of experience. And I've already seen your gear, so I also have a good idea of what you want." 

He should let Steve know exactly how much he was into the thought of this. A disclosure in kind. Steve wasn't going to use it against him, he reminded himself. Steve wasn't going to think he was a freak. God knew he'd been with people who couldn't handle this side of him, people who couldn't deal with the fact that he wanted to hurt people he loved, recreationally. But Steve was asking to know, he told himself. Steve _wanted_ exactly this. Steve wanted him to want it as much as Steve himself did.

Tony's hand slid back up into Steve's hair, and he could see Steve try to repress a pleasant shudder as Tony raked his fingernails lightly over Steve's scalp. Oh, he was going to be _fun_.

"I want this," Tony told him. "I want this so much. I told myself it couldn't be you, but, God, Steve, if you only knew how many years I've spent trying not to think about you like this..."

Steve's smile wavered. "Probably about as many years as I have."

"Probably," Tony agreed. They had a lot of lost time to make up for.

Steve glanced away again. Even that hadn't been enough. He still looked so damn _scared_.

"Trust me," Tony said. "I know what I'm doing. It would be my absolute pleasure to tie you up and hit you exactly as much as you want."

"That's the other thing," Steve said, eyes downcast. "I'm-- I'm not a good sub. I don't want you to go getting your hopes up, because most people who scene with me don't want to come back for a second round."

This seemed, frankly, unbelievable. Who the hell would tell Steve that?

"I'm _pushy_." Steve articulated the word with obvious reluctance. "I top from the bottom. That's what they say. And they're not wrong. I'm very particular about what I like. I have to be, or it doesn't work for me. And most doms, you can imagine, don't like me coming in and telling them what to do to me."

He saw what Steve meant in an instant, the words unfolding like the map of a battlefield. "No, actually, that makes perfect sense," Tony said, and Steve blinked at him, surprised. "You're peak human. Everyone else's senses of what's normal and appropriate haven't been calibrated for you. And I'm guessing nobody hits you as hard as you really want to be hit, and if you ask them to try, it freaks them out, because what you're asking for would harm a baseline human, because you can't possibly want what you say you want. Especially if you can't tell them you're Captain America. Am I right?"

Steve's mouth was half-open. Tony always enjoyed being able to surprise him. It happened so rarely. "I-- you-- how did you--"

"So what you need," Tony continued, "is someone who isn't afraid to put their back into it. Literally. Someone who knows exactly how much you can take and wants to make you _take it_." Steve breathed out hard when Tony said _take it_ and, oh, yeah, he had him now. He raised his eyebrows. "I think I might know where you can find a guy like that. A guy who is intimately aware of your physical capabilities, but can take direction as needed. And he'd, uh. He'd like to see you in leather, if you're up for that."

Steve gestured down at himself, at his uniform; there was a flicker of a smug smile on his face. "I think he sees me in leather a lot, actually."

"There's that harness in your box," Tony said, hopefully. God, he was getting hard again at just the thought. "I think he'd really like to see you in that. And nothing else."

Steve reached up and idly ran two fingers over the lapel of Tony's shirt. "And do I get to see you out of this?"

Tony couldn't imagine why Steve would want to. He was still too thin, too scarred -- Steve would look at him, and he'd see Tony had spent months living on the streets. No one needed that.

"If you're good," Tony said, which wasn't exactly yes.

"I'll be so good," Steve promised, and, yeah, that answered the question of how Steve felt about D/s. "I'll be good for you. I'll get on my knees if you want." He paused, testing the word. "Sir?"

Tony shook his head; that one was wrong. "Just call me Tony," he said. "You can still kneel, though. If you're into that. I'm into that."

"Tony," Steve said, dreamily, and, yeah, this was going to be fun.

"Come on," Tony said, hooking a finger into Steve's shirt and wishing, for more than the sake of mere convenience, that Steve had come with a collar and leash. "Let's go play with every toy in the box."

* * *

"When you said you'd seen everything in the box," Steve said, faintly, "you weren't kidding." He sounded excited, but at the same time on the edge of being overwhelmed. It reminded Tony of how he'd been when they'd found him in the ice all those years ago.

He'd stopped in the middle of Tony's bedroom, and he was staring at the contents of the box, spread out across Tony's bed.

"My toys are all in California," Tony said, apologetically. "So if you don't mind me using yours..."

"No, I want you to," Steve said. "Absolutely." He still looked a little wobbly, maybe still a bit uncertain, but Tony couldn't exactly offer him the bed to sit down on right now.

Tony grinned. "Well, as an engineer _and_ a pervert, let me just say that the idea of chaining you up in vibranium is a turn-on in several different ways."

Startled, Steve's head shot up, and then he laughed. He was relaxing now. "Of course you figured out it was vibranium. You know what's in everything. I don't know why I'm even surprised anymore."

"I should have figured out you were the one who needed a vibranium alloy, though," Tony said, ruefully, "so don't give me all the credit." Time for the other question that had been eating at him all night. "Where'd you get all this?"

"A very discreet artisan in Wakanda," Steve said. "I can give you her number if you're looking to add to your collection."

"Now I know what to get you for your birthday, is all," Tony said, and he was never going to get tired of the joy on Steve's face when he wanted to give him things, even if it was immediately followed by Steve's _you can't spend that much on me_ disapproval. "Isn't it a crying shame that you don't have a spreader bar?"

Steve breathed in, a quiet gasp, and oh, yeah, he wanted one of those. That was good information to have. "I considered it. But they had more vibranium in them than I could really afford, even the alloys." His mouth quirked. "And I know from experience I'll wreck anything that isn't at least adamantium, if I really get to struggling."

"I'll have to save up, then," Tony said, and, okay, _that_ got him Steve's aghast look. "What? You're worth it."

This was probably too intense for a first scene. Neither of them had ever been normal, though, and Tony certainly wasn't planning to start now.

He also knew that most people probably would do some kind of formal negotiation at this point. Set out some ground rules. Establish a safeword. But that was going to require stopping, and Tony really didn't want to slow down now. They knew each other, he literally couldn't hurt Steve unless Steve let him do it, and they could just course-correct as they went along.

"Right," Tony said. "This is the part where you should put back in the box anything you don't want me using on you tonight. No judgment. I just want to know what I get to pick from." And then he had another thought. "Also a couple of activities are off the table for tonight, because I have neither lube nor condoms. Wasn't planning on bringing anyone home. Haven't, since before I stopped--" Before he stopped drinking. He laughed and felt the harshness of the sound bite into him. "Not what you'd expect from the famous playboy Tony Stark, right?"

Steve turned to face him. His fingertips skimmed Tony's jaw. "I didn't come here for the fella from the headlines, Tony," Steve said, softly.

"Oh," Tony said. It was all he could say. Everything else was too immense to contemplate.

_Love_. The word no one was saying. It had to be more than just a scene for Steve, didn't it? Maybe only Tony felt like this.

Tony pressed his face against Steve's palm and kissed Steve's fingers before Steve's hand dropped away. Did Steve not really want--

No, that was Steve flipping open one of his belt pouches and holding up a little tube of Vaseline.

"What?" Steve asked, in the exact same perfectly innocent tone that Tony had used when he'd said _I've played polo_. "Sometimes I have chapped lips."

It was tempting, but-- Tony shook his head. "Still no. Not without a condom." His last test had come back clean, but he couldn't guarantee Steve six months of monogamy, and they were in a shared profession that did involve being routinely covered in other people's blood. And even if they'd had condoms... well, obviously they couldn't have used the Vaseline anyway.

"Okay," Steve said, sounding immensely agreeable given that Tony had just told him no one's dick was getting wet tonight, to put it in the crudest possible terms, "but you can still plug me up, right?"

It seemed like Steve was already way ahead of him, determined to have Iron Man inside him tonight after all. Tony nearly choked on his own tongue. "God, yes. Wouldn't miss it for the world."

Steve's grin was a positively lascivious flash of teeth, and he tossed the tube of Vaseline on the bed, then followed it up with walking over there himself. He went over to the box and wrenched it all the way open, with a screech of metal. The blindfold went in the box first, then the nipple clamps, and then the cock ring. Then he turned to Tony and held up the gag.

"Dealer's choice," Steve said. "I make a heck of a lot of noise. Especially if you're hitting hard." He grinned again. "Which you could probably have guessed, what with the sparring and the years of combat. I'm not the best at stealth."

Did Steve seriously think Tony didn't want to savor every last whimper? "Put that away, then," Tony said. "This place is soundproofed, and I want to hear you."

Steve nodded, tossed the gag in the box, set the box on the floor next to the bed, and stepped back. He was done vetoing toys for the night, apparently. Tony considered what was left on his bed: the crop that had started it all, the two floggers, the cuffs and chains, that delectable harness, and of course the Iron Man plug.

Steve raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

"Looks good to me," Tony said, and, God, it really did. "I can work with all that. I can _definitely_ work with all that." He didn't mean to second-guess Steve, but-- "You're sure that's a yes on the bondage? You _did_ just spend a day tied up in the basement, courtesy of Baron Zemo. I'd understand if you wanted to take a pass on the chains too."

He didn't exactly have a convenient way to rig Steve -- even if his bedframe had any anchor points, which it didn't, Tony was sure Steve was capable of breaking the bed. He'd have to figure something out.

"That was different," Steve said. "This is the good kind of bondage." His eyes were a little hazy, and he was smiling, a faint and hopeful little smile. Tony could still hardly believe that Steve was _into this_. It seemed like a joke. Surely, any minute now, he would pull his cowl back up, stand straight, get that Captain America look in his eyes, and walk right out the door. But somehow, he was still here.

If Steve let him do this again Tony was going to get a proper cross, or at the very least figure out how to get him spread-eagled. "All right," Tony said. If Steve thought he could take it, then he could take it. "I'll see what I can do to get you all trussed up."

Tony could actually see the frisson of lust travel through Steve's body.

Time for the fun to start.

"So," Tony asked, letting desire purr into his voice like the hum of a perfectly-tuned engine, "you going to let me see you in a little... less?"

He put his palm flat on the star of Steve's uniform, then bunched his fingers together and drew his hand down, resting his fingertips on Steve's stomach. He glanced a little lower. It was rapidly becoming clear which way Steve dressed.

Steve shuddered harder, and Tony leaned over and picked the harness up.

Steve's gaze darted to the door leading to the master bathroom. "Do you want me to, uh, change elsewhere? Getting out of this getup isn't very... dignified."

Translation: Steve was worried Tony wasn't going to think it was sexy. Well, _that_ was ridiculous.

"I want you to stay right here," Tony told him. He drew one finger down to Steve's belt buckle, and Steve swallowed hard. "I want to watch every second. And I want to help."

Something in Steve seemed to loosen when Tony touched him, as if he had been wound too tight and just needed Tony's help to right himself. Tony was a watchmaker, working with the smallest and deftest of tools: the proper application of power.

"Well," Steve said, smiling again, and there was something smooth and dark and sultry in his voice, a rush better than the kick of liquor in Tony's lonely soul. "Heaven forfend you not get exactly what you want, hmm?"

"That's what I like to hear," Tony said, and he slid his hand back up Steve's chest to start working on the fastening of Steve's uniform shirt.

* * *

Steve had been right: it wasn't very dignified. Tony didn't care.

His shirt and undershirt had come off easily enough -- and then Tony had, understandably, been distracted for at least a minute by the expanse of _Steve's chest_ \-- but when it came time to get the rest of Steve's uniform off, Steve had to wrench his boots off with both hands and then wriggle around Tony's bed, arching up to peel his pants all the way off. Tony would have paid good money just for that show alone.

"Nice," Tony said, approvingly. There was really no other word for _Steve Rogers, nearly naked and on his bed, waiting for him to tie him up and hit him_. Any sadist's dream. And also his, in particular.

Steve stared up at him, his face flushed and his hair a mess, as Tony ran one finger over Steve's dorky tighty-whities approximately one inch from where Tony was sure Steve would have preferred his finger to be. Tony had made teasing into a precise science, but he also very much planned to make good on his promises.

" _Tony_ ," Steve breathed, in a voice Tony had never heard from his mouth before. He never begged. He was begging for this.

Tony smiled down at him. "Say please."

"Please." Steve's voice was hoarse with desire, and then he reached out, not touching Tony, but instead pressing his wrists together as he stretched his arms out, ready for the cuffs, and Tony thought it was, definitely, the number one hottest thing he had seen in his life.

"Okay, beautiful," Tony said, raking his nails over Steve's side just to watch him shudder. "No hurry. The journey's all part of the fun. We'll get there."

Getting to put the cuffs on Steve was, in and of itself, better than some actual sex that Tony had had. The leather was buttery-soft, and Steve sighed in pleasure as Tony slid straps through buckles and got the cuffs around Steve's wrists and then his ankles. Steve was still staring up at him, dreamy-eyed, letting Tony just manhandle him, and, oh, this was going to be good.

"Mmm," Steve said, pushing up against Tony as Tony slid his fingers inside the cuffs to check the fit.

They probably should have done the harness first, because Steve had to sit up again and let Tony buckle him in, but it was all worth it when Tony got to grab him by the harness and drop him to the bed. It wasn't like sparring; Steve was slow and easy, giving himself over to Tony.

"You should pose with your shield and just this," Tony said, the words slipping out of him. What if that was too weird? What if--?

But Steve just grinned and stretched lazily. "Want me to go get it? You can make your own personal Captain America poster."

"Captain America wants _you_ ," Tony quoted, and Steve burst out laughing. "But, no, I think I'm okay for right now."

Steve smiled. "Maybe next time, then," he said, and God, Tony could hardly believe that Steve already wanted there to be a next time.

Right. Time to figure out the rest of the bondage.

"This next part's going to be a bit improvisational," Tony said, as he looked at the chains. 

Steve sprawled back on the bed and tilted his neck back as he slid his thumb in the waistband of his briefs, pulling one side down over his hip. He was hard enough that the fabric wasn't hiding much of anything -- Tony could tell he was uncut -- but Tony did appreciate the allure of just a little bit of secrecy.

"You're the genius," Steve murmured. "I defer to you."

Tony smiled and dipped his head. "I don't have anything here to attach the chains to that's stronger than you, so you're going to have to be your own attachment points. Think of it like bodyweight exercises, and-- oh--"

Steve was pushing his underwear all the way off, baring a pale thatch of hair and, slowly, the sizable shaft of his cock, and Tony momentarily forgot everything else he'd been talking about.

"Yes?" Steve asked, faux-innocently, as he kicked his underwear off the rest of the way and showily fondled his cock on the way back up, the leather of his cuffs sliding against his slick, flushed erection. He would have made a beautiful picture.

Tony grabbed one of the lengths of chain in one hand and Steve's wrist in the other. "Not so fast," he said, threading the chain through the D-rings on both cuffs to pull Steve's wrists together, then wrapping it up Steve's forearms as if it were rope. He found the carabiner on one end and clipped the two ends of the chain together. Steve could probably still jerk off like this, if he were really determined to, but it would be awkward. "That's all for me tonight," he said, with a significant look at Steve's gorgeous cock.

"Oh, is it?" Steve asked, amusement glinting in his eyes. It was a little bit of a dare. Clearly everything always was, with Steve.

"I thought that was the idea," Tony shot back, and he couldn't help laughing. God, this was _fun_. When was the last time he'd slept with someone who was this much fun?

"As long as you let me come eventually, I'm all in favor of that idea." Steve kicked one unrestrained foot against the mattress. "You want me to roll over now?"

"Not quite yet," Tony said. He'd been thinking about this, and it seemed like it was worth a try. "It's not a spreader bar, but it's the best I can do for immobilization."

He clipped the remaining chain to Steve's ankle, ran it up through the O-ring on Steve's chest, and back down to his other ankle. Assuming the harness held, the chain was too short to allow him to stretch his legs; he had to bring his knees up almost to his chest. It was the poor man's version of predicament bondage.

Of course, Steve was more than limber enough to reach down and unclip his ankles at any time, but this wasn't about that.

"Right," Tony said, satisfied. "Now if you roll over, you'll more or less be stuck on your elbows and knees. How do you like that?"

Steve promptly rolled over -- with a helpful push from Tony -- and, oh, yeah, that was the good stuff. Face down, ass in the air, legs spread just wide enough for things to get interesting. Steve's cock dangled against his thigh, huge and dark, and Tony reached out and ran his hand over it, just to see what Steve would do, which was to shudder and moan and push up into his hand.

"Please," Steve repeated. "Please, Tony, yes."

Tony picked up the tube of Vaseline in one hand and coated his fingers. Definitely not his favorite lube, but next time they could get something better. "I've got you," Tony said. "I'm just going to plug you up first. That way it'll feel even nicer when I hit you, mmm? You'll have something good and solid to hold onto."

This time Steve's entire body shuddered and his cock jerked, and Tony wasn't even touching him. Yeah, he liked that. "Please," he said again.

"You want that, huh?" Tony asked. "You want Iron Man inside you? That's what you think about?"

Beyond shame now, Steve nodded almost frantically, the motion of his head shaking the mattress.

"Well, then," Tony said, gently sliding two fingers over Steve's opening, "here's a bit of the real Iron Man inside you first, just to get you ready, okay?"

He felt a little weird saying it, because he couldn't think of any other time in his life when dirty talk had included the other person thinking that he, Iron Man, was in any way sexy, but Steve whimpered again in encouragement, and when Tony pressed just a tiny bit, the first two fingers of his hand slid inside Steve as easy as anything, like Steve had been waiting all his life for this.

Steve was hot and tight inside, his body clenching down on Tony's fingers, desperately trying to hold onto him, and it was very easy to imagine what it might be like on another night, when they might have more supplies and Steve could take even more of him. Tony was getting harder at the mere thought.

"That's so nice," Steve breathed. Tony glanced away from the sight of his fingers in Steve's ass, to check Steve's expression. Steve was smiling dazedly into the pillow.

"I'm glad to hear it," Tony said, letting himself relax a little more, feeling the rush of power within him, "but I thought you promised me more noise than that."

To underscore his point, he smacked Steve lightly on the ass with his free hand, and Steve's body convulsed around his fingers in shuddering pleasure as a surprised reply was jolted out of Steve's mouth. "Fuck," Steve said, obscenely and very precisely. "Please, sir, another."

Well, someone had definitely trained him to do _that_.

Tony clicked his tongue. "What did I say about you calling me sir?"

"Not to do it," Steve said, promptly. "Please, again, Tony. Iron Man. _Please_ , Shellhead."

He supposed he couldn't really ask for more names than that. Steve was desperately determined to be thorough.

So Tony hit him again, still lightly, on the other cheek this time; Steve whined with impatience and clenched down even harder.

"Easy," Tony said. "You're going to get more than this. I know exactly what you can take, so I fully intend to beat you black and blue because I know you'll be fine in six hours. But in the meantime, well, maybe your ass gets to match your uniform." 

God, Steve was a dream. He was everything you could never actually do to a real person, but you could do it all to him. Tony still couldn't believe Steve was really letting him do this.

Steve whimpered breathily. "Please, yes, that."

Tony kept fucking Steve with his fingers. He was loosening up fast, loose enough now for the plug, no problem. "Maybe next time I'll bring the armor. _Really_ put my back into it."

"Oh, God," Steve said, and his cock jerked between his thighs and for about half a second Tony wondered if he could talk Steve into coming, just from that. But Steve took a few huge breaths and got himself under control. He'd remembered he wasn't coming until Tony said so.

Tony slid his fingers out now and Steve gave a wordless grumble of dismay and disagreement.

"Don't be like that," Tony said, and smacked him helpfully on the ass again just to make him gasp. "There are more good things in store. _Now_ you get the plug."

"The plug's not as good as you," Steve complained.

"If you're still this coherent, I need to do better," Tony said, smearing Vaseline over the plug. "Come on. Take it for me. Then I can get the rest of your toys here and really go to town. I'll make it hurt so good."

Steve shivered and exhaled, sliding his knees wider. He looked like a monument to pornography, giving it all up to Tony. Tony pressed the tip of the plug to Steve's hole; Steve groaned as he pushed it in, one long sigh, and then a moan as it finally settled, slick with lube. If Steve weren't face-down, he'd have to be making an effort to hold it in, clenching and tightening around it the way he might take Tony's cock. That was a hell of a thought.

"How's that?"

"Good," Steve said, thickly. "Nice. Heavy."

Yeah, that was the level of coherence that Tony was looking for. Tony expected Steve to be out of words by this point, but somehow Steve kept going.

"I like to think about you tying me down and working me over," Steve murmured. "Then you fuck me, and when you're done you plug me up so you can keep your come inside me. That's about when I come, usually."

Jesus. Tony had to palm his own cock through his pants or this was going to get extremely embarrassing for him. Unsteady, he rocked on his feet. "Okay, who are you and what have you done with the real Steve Rogers?"

Steve turned his head and gave him a brilliant, blissed-out smile. "Always been here. Just another secret identity. Fella like you should know all about that kind of thing, right?"

He supposed Steve was right. "Yeah. I guess I've got one too." He picked up the crop, considering. "I'm going to start nice and slow with the crop. Warm you up a little before we move on to the floggers."

"Sounds good to me," Steve said, amiably, and he dropped his head into the pillow of his bound arms, pushing his ass higher. He was waiting.

Tony stood and turned, readying himself.

He looked like a statue, almost. Human perfection. An invitation to be defiled -- except the joy of it was that it wasn't, not when they both wanted it. Steve's back was a long sweep of skin, broken only by the straps of the harness, ending with the shine of the plug. Iron Man was already in him.

"You're so beautiful," Tony said. "I'm so happy you wanted this. You have no idea." And then he stopped, awkward, because he hadn't meant to say that. It felt too real, too intimate. Even if Steve wanted to do this again, he shouldn't let himself think that it meant that Steve was someone he could keep. It didn't work like that.

But Steve just lifted his head and smiled back. "I've always wanted to make you happy, Tony."

Maybe, maybe, he felt the same way Tony did.

Tony swallowed hard. "Breathe for me," he said.

He watched Steve's chest rise and fall and rise again, and then he swung out with the crop, hitting him on the exhale, on the sweet spot where his ass met his thigh. It was one of the compensations of his profession -- or perhaps avocation, because he'd still never quite worked out where superheroing fell on that scale -- that Tony had very, very, _very_ good aim.

It had been a light blow, but Steve shuddered and moaned, arching into it, his body already begging for more; from what Tony could see of his face, he was smiling. The plug glinted and bobbed where it protruded from his ass, and Tony didn't know what it said about him that he was getting off on Steve getting off on the idea of being fucked by Iron Man. It was like fucking in front of a mirror, but this one reflected his own soul back at him.

"Good?" Tony asked, because he was, as ever, hungry for Steve's praise, and he didn't mind fishing for Steve's compliments.

Steve tried to stretch, couldn't, and then shuddered pleasantly again. "Good," Steve agreed. "Harder?"

"Yeah, yeah," Tony said, with a laugh. "I'm getting there."

He tapped Steve lightly on his other thigh, and then a little harder; he peppered the backs of his thighs with taps of the crop, as many as he could, going for speed rather than finesse. Steve was starting to look nicely pink, his skin heating up, although with the way Steve handled actual injuries, Tony was sure he was going to get maybe thirty seconds of that at most.

Steve was barely breathing hard; Tony hadn't really expected to get anything out of him from only this level of pain. Luckily, he was also very good with words.

"You like that?" Tony murmured. He paused to rake his fingers over Steve's ass, to feel the way his warm skin was stippled, ever so paradoxically, with goosebumps. Steve shuddered when Tony dug three fingertips into one of the darker marks.

"Ngh," Steve said. "Yes. Please. More. You can-- you can-- you can hit my cock, if you want."

Tony inhaled sharply, brain gone stupid with lust. That was something he hadn't considered, and he didn't really have a good angle, but he could give it a try. Barehanded, he slapped Steve between the legs and managed mostly to hit his balls, which made Steve cry out, full-throated, his body shaking like he wanted to throw himself toward and away from the blow at the same time.

"That's gorgeous," Tony said, admiring. "When I'm done with your ass I'm going to have to roll you over and slap you properly."

"You do that," Steve said, breathing harder now, "and I'm probably going to come whether you like it or not. Maybe should have mentioned."

He said it like he wasn't sure what Tony would think, which was ridiculous because Tony thought that sounded like the most appealing thing in the entire world. "Mmm," he said, tapping the crop against his hand. "I'll keep that in mind. Ready for a flogger now?"

Steve nodded again, and Tony picked up the lighter of the two floggers.

"You can go hard," Steve said again.

"Oh, I will," Tony assured him. "But I'll work up to it."

The falls hissed through the air as Tony drew the flogger back and swung; Steve gasped and rocked into the first blow. He swung again, harder, and then again, even harder -- and on that one, Steve finally cried out, full-throated. The scream ran through Tony's bones, lifted him up, carried him along the current of desire, filled him with a crackling power like lightning in a bottle.

"Good, good," Tony said. "Let me hear you. Come on."

Sweat was starting to drip down Steve's forehead, and when Tony swung even harder he felt something rip in the shoulders of his shirt, because apparently his suit today hadn't been up to the challenge of impact play. He couldn't really bring himself to care about that.

Steve's eyes were dark and dazed, his ass and thighs were starting to streak with red lines, and his cock was dripping down his thigh, so wet that he was already making a mess of the bed. Maybe Steve could fuck him without lube, could slick up Tony and make Tony take him just with how wet he got, Tony thought, and then he realized he was fondling himself through his pants at the idea of it. Even if it couldn't happen, it was worth a good six months of jerk-off fantasies.

Watching him, Steve licked his lips. "Do I-- do I get to see you now, Tony?" he asked. "I've been good. Haven't I been good?"

Tony wanted to tell Steve he didn't want that. Tony was vain enough to know that he'd been good-looking once. He'd been unscarred. But then there'd been the shrapnel, and the heart surgery, and even after that he'd just spent months on the streets. He was scrawny, out of shape, and he looked it.

"You've been so good," Tony assured him, and then his mouth got caught on the rest of the words like a tangle of broken wires. "But I don't--" he said unsteadily. "I don't look... like you. If you know what I mean."

"You don't have to do it," Steve said, and there was something gentle in his gaze now, something warm and forgiving. "But if I wanted to see me I'd look in the damn mirror. I want to see _you_."

Well, Steve had asked for it. Tony could always put his clothes back on when it turned out that Steve really hated the sight of him. So he set the first flogger aside, unbuttoned his shirt with shaking hands, and let it fall. Steve regarded his skinny chest in silence, and Tony swallowed hard and undid his fly before he could second-guess himself, pushing off boxers and pants and socks in a tangled heap of clothing. With dread in his stomach, he glanced up.

Steve was still smiling.

"Oh, Tony, look at you," he breathed.

Something in Tony unknotted. "Yeah?" he asked. "You like what you see?"

"Do I ever," Steve said, and, oh God, that was his body clenching around the plug, trying to fuck himself when he couldn't move to get enough stimulation. "Dreamed about seeing you like this for a long time." Steve's smile was soft. "Who's the beautiful one now, huh?"

He could feel his own face heat up; he hoped Steve couldn't see. Steve was probably just high on his own endorphins and would say anything right now. That made more sense.

"Mmm," Tony said. "That's debatable."

Steve just gave him a look, the one Tony saw sometimes when Steve thought he'd said something wrong but wasn't pushing it. And it was weird for Steve to not push it, but, well, he had other concerns right now. Steve shifted his weight on the bed, gasping as the plug slid within him.

"We can debate it more after you hit me again," Steve said, and he smiled at him once more, in satisfaction, when he picked up the second flogger, as if seeing Tony naked and holding a flogger had been some kind of life goal.

At least Tony knew how to play that up for him. He slapped the flogger lightly against his palm, feeling the weight and sting of the falls, watching Steve's eyes track every motion, hungrily.

"This is the good stuff," Tony said. "You didn't skimp on quality."

Bound, Steve tried to shrug, but both his shoulders moved as he twisted. "Not much of a choice. The cheap stuff breaks on me. Never holds up with how hard I need it."

"And how hard's that?" Tony drawled, because he was damned if he wasn't going to have some fun, making Steve talk about it.

"Hard as you can give it to me," Steve said, and Tony knew that when Steve said that he actually meant it. "I want to be able to feel it later. No one else ever does that for me, but you know what I can take. I know you know."

"I know," Tony said. "I've got this." He stepped back, tested his swing again. "Okay. This is going to hurt."

"I sure hope so," Steve said, and Tony gave him three breaths before he swung.

He wasn't quite at his full strength, but Steve yelled when the flogger cracked across his ass and his knees slid apart, almost dropping him to the bed. God, that was good.

"Up!" Tony called out, even as he felt himself glow with the pride that he could do this to Steve. "Up, up, back on your knees. Come on! You're going to fall with one good hit? _You?_ "

Steve breathed out through clenched teeth, but his eyes were bright, and he struggled to his knees again.

"Loosen your jaw," Tony ordered. 

Steve bared his teeth at Tony, then dropped his jaw and smiled. Sweat was trickling down his forehead, over his shoulders, glistening on his skin. He was-- he was so goddamn beautiful, and right now he was all Tony's. All his to take apart.

"Good," Tony said, and he swung out again, harder.

Steve screamed now, with all of his voice, and he hadn't been kidding when he said he made a lot of noise. But it was the good kind of scream: Steve's whole body arched into the blow, he trembled with the pain, and God, he was still hard. He was gripping the sheets, clearly determined to stay upright, and Tony decided that kind of stubbornness deserved a reward, so he drew back and hit Steve with every ounce of strength in him, right across the lines of the previous blows.

Steve was already half-hoarse now, when he screamed again, and his ass was dark red, fading into purple; his body was already trying to heal the bruises. When Steve lifted his head there were tears streaking across his cheeks, dripping down onto the chains on his arms. Steve was _crying_. All because of him.

Oh, he'd made subs cry before, of course he had. But none of it had approached this, the utter perfection of watching Steve letting himself break apart in Tony's hands and trusting Tony to keep him safe and put him back together.

Tony trailed the flogger lightly up Steve's spine just to watch the anticipatory shiver pass over Steve's unmarred, dewy-gold skin, as Steve's body tried to figure out what was coming next. He tipped Steve's chin into his hand and wiped off a line of tears with his thumb.

"You're a gorgeous mess, aren't you?" Tony breathed.

Steve licked his lips. " _Your_ gorgeous mess," he said, with hope in his voice, and even though Tony tried to tell himself Steve couldn't mean it the way Tony thought he did, his heart beat faster at the words.

"You'd like that?" Tony asked.

Steve gave him another heartbreaking smile and pressed a damp kiss into Tony's palm. "I'd love it. You-- this-- this is everything I've ever wanted, all at once."

He had no idea what to say to that, other than that he wanted it too, had wanted exactly the same thing, but that was too terrifying, too much of a risk. Too many things could go wrong. He couldn't let himself believe this.

Impulsively, Tony bent down, tipped Steve's chin up, and kissed him properly. "Harder," Steve said, against his mouth, the same thing he'd said about everything else tonight, and when Tony bit his lip he made an absolutely joyous noise. Steve was leaning into him, trying to press himself against him, with a quiet jingle of vibranium.

"Shh," Tony said, stepping back and admiring Steve's bruised, reddened mouth. "I get to decide what you get, don't I? You'll get more."

Steve smiled back and obligingly pushed himself up again, waiting; Tony decided to reward him by playing with the plug, watching the slow, filthy slide of slick metal into Steve's ass.

"Oh, Tony," Steve breathed. "That's so good. So good."

But pleasure, Tony knew, was better mixed with pain, so he stepped back and hit Steve again, again, again, until he couldn't count the blows, until Steve couldn't do more than sob, until his sides were heaving. Tony was sweating. His arms were sore, aching. Steve's ass and thighs were a solid mess of black and blue welts; he looked like he'd been in an accident. It would be gone by morning, but it looked like it hurt enough now. Tony could see why it would have terrified most other tops. But as far as he was concerned Steve was goddamn beautiful like this.

He imagined giving his own cock a few good strokes, coming on Steve's ass, marking up Steve's bruises even more with his own come, rubbing it in and making Steve cry more with the pain of just a touch. God, that was a nice thought. Maybe next time.

He smacked Steve's ass again, barehanded, and Steve sobbed again. "Tony. Please," he said, and he left it hanging, like he didn't know what he was asking for anymore. Maybe he didn't.

"Next time I could paddle you," Tony said, idly, and, God, he was already thinking even more about next time. "Bet you'd like that. Get you a real nice bruise or two that way."

"Mmm," Steve breathed. "Yeah. Yeah, Tony, please. Hurt me."

Maybe they should have planned the scene out more, because Tony was rapidly running out of the physical capacity to land heavy blows. In fact, he was pretty much done with that. But Steve needed more. They both did. They needed something else. Tony was flying on instinct here, but, hell, he hadn't gone wrong yet. "Well, you're nicely bruised-up," he said. "So maybe I'm done hurting you." But before Steve's face could fall, he added. "This is the really fun part. The part where _you_ hurt you."

Steve frowned. He clearly wasn't going to be able to think through this in his current state of mind. "What?"

"Just trust me," Tony said, and he unclipped the chains from Steve's ankles, letting the chain slide through the rings and free Steve's legs. "And roll over onto your back. Arms above your head."

Steve straightened his legs out and -- with Tony dragging him by the harness -- rolled over, wincing as his plugged, bruised, and generally-abraded ass hit the bed. "Oh," Steve breathed, eyes wide and unfocused, drunk on pleasure. "Oh, mmm. That's good. Now-- now what?"

"I'm an engineer, remember?" Tony said. "Time to test your tolerances."

And with that, he climbed onto the bed, straddling Steve's legs, sitting down on his thighs, pressing him down into the mattress. Sure, Steve had the strength to lift him, or to throw him off if he wanted, but an extra couple hundred pounds was definitely going to increase that glorious agony he was currently feeling. Steve was trembling. His cock was so hard that Tony wondered if the slightest touch would set him off. With all the good cheer that only the opportunity for really excellent sadism could ever give him, Tony grinned down at Steve, proceeded to ignore Steve's cock entirely, and instead slid his hands up Steve's stomach to pinch his nipples, as Steve cried out and twisted beneath him.

"Please," Steve pleaded. He'd thrown his head back; his muscles were quivering, taut. "Please, Tony, it's so good, the plug's so heavy, it all hurts, I can't, I can't, please."

Another night, maybe, they could push Steve to the very limit. But here and now, Tony just wanted to give him what he was begging for.

"Keep your hands above your head," Tony ordered. "I'm going to do all the work. The more you move, the more you hurt. But you know that."

Steve just smiled up at him, out of words.

Tony shifted his weight on Steve's thighs, sliding up so that he could bring their cocks together in his hand. Steve cried out again when they touched, and Tony heard himself groan as he looked down at the sight, obscene and beautiful, the two of them held together. Flesh slid against flesh as Tony jerked both of them off, pressed them tighter and tighter, pumped his hand faster around both of them.

"Gonna mess you up even more," Tony panted. "Gonna shoot all over you," he added, and Steve moaned and rocked up, then whimpered again in renewed pain. "And you're going to come with that plug up your ass, that plug I put there, that plug that's all mine, hurting because I made you hurt, because you're _mine_ and you know it--"

"Please, yes, please, yours," Steve gasped, and then Steve's cock jerked in Tony's hand and he was coming, coming all over Tony's hand, Tony's cock, his own trembling stomach, and it was the hottest thing Tony had ever seen.

Tony knew he was still gripping Steve's cock, pressing it harder against his, as Steve was whimpering with overstimulation, and, God, Tony was almost there, almost there--

"You can come anywhere you want," Steve breathed, tilting his head back, an offering. "My thighs. My ass. You can come on my face and take a picture and jerk off to it every night you're away from me, because I'm yours, yeah, I know I'm yours."

Helpless, Tony came, hard, his world blacking out as the pleasure took him over, as he fell into the night and through the other side. When he opened his eyes, Steve was even more of a come-spattered mess, but Steve was smiling lazily up at him, and Tony figured he should get off him before he fell over.

He clambered up Steve's body and unhooked the chain on his arms by feel, unwinding it as best he could, and Steve promptly put his arms down and drew him close. The cuffs slid over Tony's back. Eventually, Tony knew, they'd have to get Steve cleaned up, but right now he couldn't be bothered.

"How are you doing?" Tony murmured into Steve's shoulder.

"Wonderful," Steve told him, and there was something warm within Tony's chest. "That was-- you were perfect. The best."

"You were too," Tony told him. He kissed Steve's neck, his chin, the corner of his mouth. He could feel Steve smile. He took a breath. "Maybe you want to do this again sometime?"

"Maybe I want to do this again a lot," Steve returned. He paused. "I-- I love you, Tony. You don't have to say it back. I just want you to know."

Oh. Steve felt exactly the same. Steve was his. Steve had said so.

Tony kissed Steve's cheek. "I love you too. In the interests of full disclosure."

"Well," Steve said, like he'd put down a heavy weight all at once and didn't quite know what to do with himself now. "That's good. That's really good."

Tony should get up and get Steve some water, or a washcloth. Get the plug out of him, probably. Instead he found himself tracing the line of Steve's throat with an idle finger, and Steve shivered.

"Just wondering," Tony began.

"Yes?"

"All this leather you've got," Tony said. "And you don't have a collar."

Steve was silent for a while, and Tony began to wonder if he shouldn't have said anything.

"Not much of a story there, I'm afraid," Steve said, finally. "I don't like wearing them just for play with a stranger, and I've... never been with anyone serious enough who wanted to give me one long-term."

Tony stroked the side of Steve's neck. "And-- and if someone wanted to?"

Smiling, Steve looked over at him.

They could build something new after all. Together.

"If someone wanted to," Steve said, very firmly, "I'd tell him yes."

**Author's Note:**

> The usual [Tumblr post](https://sineala.tumblr.com/post/623785868134694912/fic-so-much-to-confide-to-you).


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